


Over and Over

by woodenducks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Deserves Nice Things, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, post 15.18 hand waving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27936213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodenducks/pseuds/woodenducks
Summary: Cas hums, drops a kiss onto Dean’s upturned face. “Have you ever done it before?” he asks.Dean looks down, eyelashes fluttering over reddening cheeks. “A couple times,” he says.“How many could you do?” Cas asks, intrigued.Castiel wants to make Dean feel good--as many times as he can.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 312





	Over and Over

They pull Cas out of the Empty. Of course they do.

It’s not easy—it takes planning, and pain, and luck, and daring. But when the deed is done, and Dean tears back out of the fabric of nothingness with Cas’s human body in his arms, it’s worth it. It’s always been worth it. When Cas lies prone on the floor of the library where they landed, his fingers clutching in Dean’s shirt tails and sobs wracking his body, he feels Dean holds him close, steeling his spine against the darkness they’d just escaped.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into the top of Cas’s head, feeling his body shudder with deep, human breaths. “I’ve got you.”

From there, it doesn’t take long for Dean to acknowledge feelings he’s left unspoken for far too long, to say it out loud for the first time. Cas is cautious at first, aware of the hole he’d blown in his cool façade when he’d been taken by the Empty in the first place. Confessions like that don’t come easily, not for the Winchesters, and not for Cas either, who’d learned a particular type of reticence from Dean, a need to hold back what he’d wanted to say.

But Dean surprises him, after all. He takes Cas by the hand one evening in the kitchen, not long after his return to the bunker, and holds tight to his fingers and says: “Me too, by the way.”

At Cas’s questioning look, he makes himself clearer: “I love you, too.”

The way they come together is easy, after all the pain and challenge of their lives until that point. They shed their suffering like snakeskins at the season’s change: discarded husks that have no value now as they forge ahead with skins shiny and new.

Their love blossoms easily, quickly, now that they allow it to. Hands linger, mouths open, and bodies come together in a congress so pure and bright and _right_ that Castiel thinks something holy still moves within him. Maybe it does.

Cas has been human before, but this time it seems like it’s for real, no take-backs, no exchanges, no refunds. This time, though, he is not alone. He has Dean by his side, in his arms, and that makes all the difference in the world. His human existence this time is built on good experiences. On food, friendship, family. On watching movies in the lounge with Dean and Sam. On sharing a meal at the large kitchen table, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, flavours singing across his palate as he eats a meal cooked with love. On moments with Jack—his son, still, after everything—as they crouch in the rooftop garden together, sowing seeds and watering the herbs he’s been planting.

On nights with Dean in their shared bed, caught up in each other’s arms, finally able to peacefully rest. Or intertwined together in the sheets, open-mouthed and panting, breathing each other’s warm breath as it’s sighed into the dark.

Or like this, Cas kneeling on the mattress with Dean in his lap. Dean’s back is plastered against Cas’s chest as Cas wraps his hands around Dean’s waist, holding him and guiding him as he rolls his hips, pushing into Dean’s body faster and deeper.

“Fuck, Cas, _fuck_ ,” Dean moans, his head dropping back to loll against Cas’s shoulder.

Cas twists his head, presses an open-mouthed kiss to Dean’s cheek, and pulls Dean firmly back into his lap, stopping and grinding his hips slow and dirty, watching as Dean’s mouth drops open on a groan.

“Like that?” Cas asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean slurs, cheeks pink, sweat dotting his hairline.

Dean’s hands drop down to the outside of Cas’s thighs, fingers digging into the muscle for leverage as he rocks his hips, desperate for more, more of Cas inside him, as much as he can get. Cas knows, because Dean has told him before. Not with words, exactly. But he’s heard it in Dean’s heightened moans when Cas fucks him deep and hard, the sigh he makes when Cas is seated fully, finally inside him. The way he parts his thighs, sweet and soft, to make more room for Cas, to get him closer, to let him in as far as he can go.

On the bed, Cas’s knees dig into the mattress as he wraps his arm around Dean’s waist, holds him close and reaches down to trail his hand over Dean’s cock.

“Are you going to come like this?” he murmurs in Dean’s ear, running his fingertips over the hot skin of Dean’s erection.

Dean’s hips twitch at the touch, and he moans softly.

“Soon,” he says. “God, ‘m close, Cas.”

Cas redoubles his efforts, buttocks flexing as he fucks up into Dean’s warm body. Dean groans, and Cas feels his cock jerk in his hand.

“How many times?” Cas asks, voice warm and low.

Dean doesn’t answer. Cas pinches Dean’s side with the hand still at his waist.

“Dean,” he says. “Dean, I want to make you come over, and over, and over again.” He punctuates his words with rolls of his hips. Dean moans and shudders, and Cas can feel it ripple through Dean’s body where it’s pressed against his own.

“Come for me now,” Cas murmurs against Dean’s ear, his hand sliding over Dean’s cock, his hips rolling a punishing rhythm. “Come for me, beloved.”

And Dean, helpless, does.

Afterwards, when they’re lying beneath the sheets together, ankles tangled and Dean’s head pillowed on Cas’s chest, Dean asks: “Did you mean what you said?”

Cas’s fingers continue running softly through Dean’s hair, trailing over the skin behind his ear, sliding softly over the gentle give of his neck.

“Which part?” he asks.

He says a lot to Dean, often in the heat of the moment and the privacy of their bed. He means it all, of course. It’s never crossed his mind to lie or embellish for the sake of…well, _dirty talk_. Dean sometimes scoffs at his sincerity, or turns away from it, or files it away as hyperbole, because sometimes Cas knows the things he says are too much, or too raw, and Dean needs time to process it before he can engage. Like when Cas had Dean wrapped in his arms after the first time they made love, when he said: _I didn’t think I’d ever see anything as beautiful as the first sunrise, until I saw you come apart beneath me_. Or when he was buried in Dean to the hilt, Dean’s legs wrapped around his waist and arms clutching his shoulders, and he said: _I want to stay inside you, this close to you, until the very last revolution of the earth_. Or when Dean rode him, slow and loving, head tipped back as he lost himself in pleasure, and Cas said: _I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you, all of you, just like this_.

He’s not sure what he said exactly this time; he’d lost himself to his passion, words passing his lips unbidden.

Dean blushes, his fingers tapping against Cas’s ribs.

“The part about making me…you know…again and again.”

“Oh,” says Cas. _Oh._ He pictures it, Dean strung out and trembling, overwhelmed and begging. They’ve been doing this for months now, taking each other apart with heated touches and long-ignored desire. He loves bringing Dean pleasure, driving him wild with it, pulling him down over the edge. Warmth begins to eddy in his gut at the thought of it, of seeing how far he can push it.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Dean continues. “I’m game.”

Cas hums, drops a kiss onto Dean’s upturned face. “Have you ever done it before?” he asks.

Dean looks down, eyelashes fluttering over reddening cheeks. “A couple times,” he says.

“How many could you do?” Cas asks, intrigued.

“Two, when I was younger, if I was lucky.” Dean shrugs. “I’m over forty now, dude. I don’t like your chances.”

Cas considers it, rolls the challenge of it around in his head. “But you’d let me try?”

“Yeah,” Dean huffs a laugh. “I mean, not right now. But…god, you just make me feel…” He trails off. “It’s never been so intense as it is with you.”

Cas’s hand stills where it’s running across the back of Dean’s neck.

“In a good way,” Dean adds, hurriedly. “I think it’s because I love you.”

Cas smiles, tips Dean’s chin up, and drops a soft kiss to his mouth.

“And I love you,” he says, fingers lingering against Dean’s throat.

He can’t stop thinking about it. Dean’s pleasure is already a heady thing for Cas: the way Dean’s skin flushes, the way his mouth goes slack and easy when Cas fucks him just right, the way his brow twists and his eyes flutter closed when he comes. He thinks about the possibility of more. Of wringing Dean out to the last drop. Of overwhelming him completely with love, with lust, with pleasure. He wants Dean to have everything.

And he’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

So he corners Dean in the kitchen one morning, not long after their conversation, intent setting his shoulders and guiding his hands. He backs Dean against the kitchen counter where he’d been mixing pancake batter, and lays his hands low on Dean’s hips.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean says, voice low and pleased.

“Morning,” Cas hums, dropping his head to kiss the side of Dean’s neck. Dean gives a pleased hum, and Cas feels it reverberate through his lips.

“What would you say,” he starts, trailing his lips over Dean’s clavicle where the neck of his t-shirt sags away, the fabric stretched with age, “if I suggested that tonight, I...” he kisses his way up the column of Dean’s throat, feeling Dean’s breath hitch.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean whispers, before Cas has even asked, eager to agree to anything Cas wants to give him.

“I want to make you feel so good it overwhelms you,” he says, voice still barely above a murmur. “Time and again.” He squeezes Dean’s hips as they jerk forward minutely.

“Okay, okay,” Dean mutters, tipping his head to catch Cas’s lips with his own. Cas kisses him, wet and hungrily, until he hears the whisk Dean had been holding clatter to the floor at their feet, Dean’s hands coming up to grip Cas’s shoulders.

Cas pulls back, letting his teeth scrape along Dean’s lower lip as they part.

“Good,” he says. He steps back, putting a foot of distance between them. He crosses his arms, regards Dean’s dishevelled appearance, knowing that it will have nothing on how Dean will look by the time he’s done with him tonight.

Cas tips his head towards Dean, thoughtful. Dean blushes, a light pink colouring his cheeks.

“Don’t forget to hydrate,” Cas says, turning on his heel and walking out of the kitchen, Dean’s spluttering cough echoing behind him as he goes.

In heaven, Castiel was a masterful tactician, inspired in his planning and ruthless in execution. Cas, as a human, is delighted to find he still possessed those innate skills—even if he applies them in slightly different ways these days.

He passes the afternoon in contemplation and quiet, alternating between reading alone in the library and sitting and thinking about how, precisely, he’s going to take Dean apart tonight.

By the time they’ve finished with dinner—a meal throughout which Dean fidgeted and flustered under Cas’s gaze—he is prepared. He’s ready. He takes Dean’s hand and leads him down the hall to their bedroom, pulling him into the room and pushing the door shut behind them. Dean’s on him within moments, hands tangling in his hair on either side of his head, backing Cas into the closed door and crashing their mouths together.

“Fuckin’ tease,” Dean growls between kisses, hands leaving Cas’s head to pluck at the hem of his shirt instead.

Cas lets himself be pinned against the door, lets Dean have this moment of control. It won’t last long.

Dean reaches for the button on Cas’s jeans, slipping it free from the fastening. Dean’s hands are hot and insistent as he presses his fingers against Cas’s cock, squeezing him through the denim. He’s already hard enough that his pants are becoming uncomfortable.

He steps forward, hands on Dean’s hips, walking him back towards the bed. He pushes Dean away for a moment, giving them space to breathe.

Dean looks wrecked already, his lips red and wet, colour breaking out across his cheeks. His breath is coming fast, just from this, just from the anticipation. Cas considers him for a moment.

“Strip,” Cas says, and Dean is falling over himself to comply. He eagerly pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the floor. Cas’s hands join him in undoing the button fly of his jeans, wrapping fingers around the waist of his pants and underwear and pulling them onto the floor. Dean steadies himself with a hand on Cas’s shoulder as he lifts one foot and then the other, Cas reaching to roll of his socks and add them to the pile of clothing on the floor.

Cas straightens, regards Dean in his naked splendour: the artful bow of his legs, the proud jut of his hard cock, the flush that’s starting to creep down among the hairs of his chest. He raises a hand and places it over Dean’s heart, and feels it beat a rapid tattoo against his palm. He pushes, and Dean falls back against the sheets, sliding backwards over the mattress. Cas is on him in an instant, crawling over him on hands and knees, kissing his way up Dean’s chest until he settles beside him, one hand running over Dean’s hip.

“Ready?” he asks.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He reaches down and grasps Dean’s cock in his hand, jerking him fast and ruthless.

“Jesus, _fuck_ ,” Dean gasps out, hips twitching. He makes to sit up, reaching for Cas with one hand. Cas pushes at Dean’s shoulder, presses him back down into the sheets.

“Stay here,” he commands, and Dean moans, pushing up just to feel Cas lean into him and hold him back down.

Dean’s cock is leaking steadily in his grip as Cas works him over, quick and thorough. He knows by now the right way to twist his wrist, the places to rub his thumb. He’s relentless as he strokes Dean’s cock hard and fast, precome easing the way, smoothing the glide of his hand.

“Gonna come, Cas, gonna—” Dean warns him. Cas doesn’t stop. He lowers his head to Dean’s chest, taking one of Dean’s nipples between his lips. Dean gasps as Cas sucks on the tender flesh, bites down with a scrape of his teeth. He feels Dean’s back try to bow beneath him as Dean’s dick jumps in his hand, growing incrementally harder in the last second before Dean’s coming with a soft groan.

Cas slips his mouth up Dean’s chest, up his neck, over the stubble on his chin and up to Dean’s mouth, sealing their lips in a heated kiss.

“That’s one,” he says, pulling away.

Dean whimpers.

Cas looks down at him, at the red flush staining his neck and chest, the fine sheen of sweat breaking out across his brow, the come streaking his stomach. He reaches down and undoes his jeans and wriggles out of them, not missing the appreciative way Dean looks at him as he disrobes.

“Another?” he asks.

“Gimme a minute,” Dean says, sitting up and tugging at Cas’s hand. “Just, c’mere…”

Cas lets himself be pulled back down next to Dean. He stretches out along Dean’s body, languorous and slow. Dean reaches up and runs his fingers through Cas’s hair, then tugs, just lightly, until their mouths meet.

Kissing Dean still feels like a revelation. He remembers the first time they kissed, a soft and tender flowing of relief between them. He kisses Dean now with the same gentleness, feeling Dean’s lips curving into a smile against his own.

They stay like that for long moments, Dean’s fingers curled in the hair behind Cas’s ear, Cas’s fingers stroking a long, slow pattern down Dean’s ribs—not to tease, not to entice, but just to feel the rise and set of muscle and bone as Dean breathes. He’s so incredibly lucky, he thinks, to have arrived here. Despite everything—every roadblock, every moment of pain, every denial—he’s arrived here, whole and safe and alive and in love. He can feel that reflected back at him in the way Dean looks at him, touches him, kisses him.

Cas brings his hand up to grip Dean’s jaw, applying the slightest pressure to open Dean’s mouth wider. He licks between Dean’s teeth, feels Dean shiver as their tongues meet. He nudges their kiss towards something deeper, wetter, catching Dean’s lower lip between his teeth. Dean moans beneath him, shifting restlessly on the mattress. Cas’s cock throbs between his legs, still hard. He can ignore it for now; this is for Dean, to see how far Dean can go.

“Ready?” he asks.

Dean nods.

Cas reaches down between Dean’s thighs and grabs his cock—it’s starting to fill out against Dean’s thigh already, just from the slick movement of their mouths together and the promise of more to come.

He gives Dean’s cock a few strokes, and Dean hisses above him. Cas stops, looks at Dean’s face.

“Sensitive,” he says, lip caught between his teeth. “Get the lube?”

Cas has a better idea—Cas has a _plan_. He shuffles down on the bed until his knees are bracketing Dean’s shins, braces himself on his elbows, and leans down and licks a wet stripe up Dean’s cock. Dean gasps, and throws his head back against the pillows.

Taking it as a good sign, Cas parts his lips and slips the head of Dean’s cock into his mouth. He can feel Dean growing harder against his tongue, and he sucks against the flesh, closing his eyes and letting his lips slide down Dean’s length.

When he was still an angel, he’d seen this act performed hundreds of times—thousands even—as he watched over humanity. He’d never seen the appeal in it, never understood how it could bring so much pleasure to the person performing it, until he tried it for the first time. And now, with the weight of Dean’s cock against his tongue and the roof of his mouth, the salty-bitter taste of precome as it leaks against the back of his tongue, the way Dean moans and shifts against the sheets, kicking a knee out to spread his thighs: it all coalesces into something heady and artful, and Cas feels pleasure thrumming through his own veins as he sucks Dean down deeper.

It takes longer than it usually would—more often than not, Dean is easy for him, follows the path of pleasure that Cas lays before him with sure steps. But tonight he’s already come once, and the next orgasm is harder won.

“Cas, Cas, c’mon…” Dean is breathing raggedly above him, head tossing back and forth on the pillows. He pulls his knees up, opens his thighs. Cas wraps a hand around one ankle, feeling the fine structure of Dean’s bones beneath his fingers. He tugs, and Dean’s thighs come to rest on his shoulders. Castiel’s jaw aches. Saliva is dripping from his mouth, soaking Dean’s pubic hair, easing the way of Cas’s other hand as its wraps around the base of Dean’s cock. He slides his tongue over the head of Dean’s cock, pulls back to seal his lips around the tip and suck hard. He runs his tongue up the underside of Dean’s length, tracing a thick vein that runs up from the root.

“Are you close?” he asks, and his voice is wrecked. He licks his thumb, reaches down behind Dean’s balls and rubs roughly over his perineum as his slides Dean’s cock back between his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, god,” Dean moans.

Cas pulls off with a pop. His hand resumes stroking behind Dean’s balls, before slipping back further to trace around the tight, hot skin at the core of him.

“Good, Dean. Good. God, you sound amazing.”

Dean laughs, almost hysterically. His eyes flick down to Cas’s face, seeking his eyes. Cas meets Dean’s gaze, notes the wildness around the whites of his eyes. Not breaking the glance, he ducks his head again and takes Dean’s cock in his mouth.

This time, he’s relentless. He employs all his knowledge—he’d once thought it limited, but he’s nothing but an excellent student when it comes to getting Dean off—until Dean is moaning a constant string of broken sounds above him.

“Cas,” he moans, and Cas feels his own cock grow insistently harder at the sound. “Cas, _fuck_ , ‘m gonna…ah, _fuck!_ ”

Dean’s thighs clamp hard around Cas’s head, and he can feel Dean contort above him, stomach clenching and back curving and he curls up off the pillows with the force of his orgasm. Dean spills over his tongue, hot and bitter, his dick pulsing. Cas swallows it, savouring the feeling of Dean’s pleasure spurting hot and thick in his mouth. God, he loves it—he loves to make Dean lose control like this. He eases Dean’s legs down to rest softly on the sheets, and regards Dean hungrily.

“I love you like this,” he says, running his hands up Dean’s thighs, dragging his nails on the way back down. Dean sighs deeply, runs his hands over his face. “You make me so _hard_.”

Dean moans again, reaches down to pinch at his own nipple. Cas lets him, watches the way Dean’s face twists.

“Do you want to see how hard I am for you?” Cas asks.

“Uhuh,” Dean groans, mindless, eyes closed. “Yeah, Cas, yeah.”

Cas kneels and crawls up the bed, over Dean’s pliant body. He leans back on Dean’s thighs, sitting back and taking his dick in his hand. Dean cracks his eyes open at the sound of Cas jerking himself, his eyes glassy and barely focusing. Cas looks at his face: his lips are bitten raw, his neck is flushed a deep red, and sweat beads along his hairline. He looks utterly debauched, and Cas loves it. Loves that he did this for Dean, wrecked him like this.

But there’s still so much more to do.

It’s that thought that pulls him straight over the edge, coming in streaks up Dean’s belly and chest.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean groans, biting his lip and squirming. He loves this, Cas knows. Loves being marked, claimed. Loves being filthy with how much Cas wants him.

Dean sighs and stretches below him. “That was great, Cas,” he says, voice slurred and tired. “Love you,” he murmurs.

Cas smiles at him indulgently. “I’m not done with you yet,” he growls.

He trails his lips over Dean’s cheek, before leaning over to the nightstand and grabbing the lube out of the draw.

Dean sits up on his elbows, more alert now.

“Cas, wait,” he says. Cas sits back, giving Dean space, his hands resting by his sides.

“You’ll stop, right?” Dean asks, biting at his lower lip. “If I need you to. If I can’t…”

“Of course,” Cas says urgently. “Do you want to stop now?”

Dean looks at him, his green eyes dark, his face flushing all over again.

“No,” he says. “No, I want to keep going. I want you, I just—fuck, Cas, I want you so bad.”

Cas grins and leans up and kisses Dean, fucking his tongue into his mouth in slow, lazy thrusts. It’s graceless and dirty, but he can feel heat start to pool low in his belly again as Dean moans into his mouth.

He reaches his hand down and swipes his fingers through the come pooling on Dean’s stomach. It’s tacky now, starting to cool as he rubs it between his thumb and fingers. He gathers more, and reaches his hand down between Dean’s legs, rubbing the pads of his fingers over Dean’s hole.

“Shit,” Dean hisses, sensitive enough to jump at the touch.

“Okay?” Cas asks.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going.”

“Dean, I’m going to make you feel so good,” he says as he slides one finger into Dean, up to the second knuckle. Dean groans low in his throat.

“Always do, babe,” he says. “You always make me feel so fucking good.”

Cas pulls his hand away, grabs the bottle of lube and slicks up his fingers. This time he slips inside easily, draws his finger out again, fucks it into Dean slowly and solidly.

It’s not enough like this, he knows. Dean sighs above him, blissed out and content as Cas slowly slides a second finger in, lowering his head to drop wet, open-mouthed kisses along Dean’s hips.

It takes a while, this time. He keeps up the motion of his hand, leisurely and unhurried, gliding over Dean’s prostate with a light touch. He drizzles more lube over his hand, and slides a third finger in.

“You gonna fuck me, Cas?” Dean slurs, his voice sounding like he’s floating. Cas could now if he wanted—and he wants to, _god_ , he wants Dean so badly, wants to watch him writhe on the end of his cock—he’s gotten so hard again just from teasing Dean like this, from hearing the sweet sounds that have dropped from his mouth as Cas has thoroughly taken him apart.

“Is that what you want?” Cas asks.

“Yeah, yeah, I want it.” Dean spreads his knees further apart on the bed, making room for Cas to crawl between his thighs and push into him. But Cas waits.

“Soon,” he says, kissing Dean’s knee. Dean whines.

“C’mon, Cas, please.”

Cas just scrapes his teeth down Dean’s knee, then trails his tongue up Dean’s inner thigh.

“Soon,” he says again. He twists his fingers, seeking out Dean’s prostate like a homing device, pressing firmly over and over. Dean keens, his cock starting to grow hard again. He tries to curl onto his side, needing to do something, anything, in the face of overstimulation. Cas brings his free hand up to Dean’s hip and pulls him flat against the mattress again, pinning him in place.

“I need you,” Dean moans. “Come on, I need you in me.”

Cas smiles, drops a kiss on the head of Dean’s cock, which is flushing deep red and growing firmer again, wet at the tip. He’s never been able to deny Dean anything. Certainly not now when it’s so willingly asked for, so hungrily taken.

He pulls his fingers out of Dean, mindful of the way Dean sobs and his hole clenches around the sudden emptiness. Sitting back on his knees, he grabs the lube, slicks up his cock, and grasps Dean underneath his knees, pulling him into his lap.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Fuck, yes, please, just—just _fuck me_ , Cas, please…” Dean is babbling now, rubbing the back of one hand over his eyes, the other clutching the pillow under his head in a death grip.

Slowly, inch by inch, Cas slides into the warmth and welcome of Dean’s body. Dean moans loudly, almost a wail, tapering off into a sob that sounds a bit like Cas’s name.

Cas stops, holding Dean’s thighs, feeling the muscle tremble beneath the broad palms of his hands. He looks at Dean, the flush that’s returned down his chest, the way his ribs rise and fall with each hitching breath, his slack mouth and glassy eyes.

“Okay?” he asks.

Dean nods, shakes his head, nods again. “’s a lot,” he says, the words dragging out of his lips slow and slurred.

“Too much?” Cas asks.

“No, keep going, keep going,” Dean says hurriedly, his voice rising in volume, like he can’t stand the thought of Cas stopping now. His lips move, over and over, his voice whisper quiet as the words reach Cas: “Please, please, please, please…”

Cas grips Dean’s hips firmly, then withdraws his cock just an inch before sliding back firmly. The angle must be good—and he’s done this enough times to have committed it to memory, the way that Dean wants it best, the angles and rhythms that drive him wild. It must be good, because when he does it again, this time pulling out further and driving back in with a firm stroke, Dean wails, a string of moaned vowels that break free from his mouth on a shaky exhale.

He’s fully hard now, cock slapping against his stomach as Cas thrusts into him again and again. He reaches a foot up, slinging his knee over Cas’s shoulder, digging his heel in for leverage as he rolls his hips desperately against Cas’s lap.

Cas keeps it up, driving into Dean’s prostate like a machine, like a piston, single-minded in his goal of bringing Dean to the brink of pleasure for a third time.

It takes time. He wraps a hand around Dean’s knee, warm and sure; he trails his fingers up Dean’s chest to rub his thumbs over Dean’s nipples; he folds himself over Dean and kisses his sweet mouth languidly as he continues to fuck him.

He pulls out, applies more lube, and rolls Dean onto his side, slotting in behind him and lifting Dean’s leg out of the way before sliding back home. Dean’s chest heaves with the effort of breathing, his cries reaching a fever pitch at the new angle. From here, Cas can wrap his arms around Dean, cradle him close to his chest and kiss the back of his neck with tenderness. He leans over Dean, kissing the side of his face, bringing a hand up to wipe away the tears that are spilling down his cheeks.

“Dean, oh god, Dean,” Cas breathes into Dean’s ear, teeth grazing against his earlobe. “You feel so incredible. You feel better than anything I’ve felt in my lifetime. This pleasure that you give me is holy, holier than any chorus of the host, brighter than the lights of heaven itself.”

Dean moans, shakes his head. “Cas, c’mon.”

Cas doesn’t know if Dean’s too humble to believe it, but he needs to say it.

“I love you, Dean. I love your body, your mind, your soul. I love to feel you, just like this.”

He reaches a hand down and wraps it around Dean’s cock. Dean cries out, breathing hard.

“And when you come for me,” Cas continues softly into Dean’s ear, hips still thrusting into Dean, feeling the warm clench of him surround him, “when you come for me it’s like watching the earth be born. A miraculous moment of creation, a blessing, that purity of light and being that you so willingly share with me.”

He thrusts hard, twists his hand over the hard length of Dean’s cock.

“Share it with me now, Dean,” he murmurs. Dean groans, loud and deep from within his belly. “Come on, beloved, “ Cas whispers. “Come for me.”

“Can’t,” Dean sobs, chest heaving. “Cas, Cas, I can’t, I—”

“Yes you can,” Cas says, scraping his teeth down the nape of Dean’s neck. “You can, and you will. Come for me.”

Dean whines, feet kicking against the sheets, hands grasping at Cas’s arm where it’s still wrapped firm around his waist.

“ _Now,_ Dean,” Cas says, his voice a command.

And Dean does, with a strangled shout that’s ripped from his throat. His whole body tenses, each muscle screaming as his orgasm courses through him for the third time that night.

“That’s it, that’s it, beautiful,” Cas murmurs, stroking his hands over Dean’s belly, his chest, his biceps, his waist. “So beautiful, Dean, so beautiful.”

Dean breathes out deeply, barely holding on. “Love you, fuck, Cas, love you,” he mutters. “God, Cas, need you, come in me, please, wanna feel you, wanna feel everything.”

Cas groans, feeling Dean tighten around his cock. A few short thrusts is all it takes before the dam breaks, and he’s coming in wild spurts inside Dean.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon, babe,” Dean sighs as Cas comes down, resting his head between Dean’s shoulder blades.

He pulls out of Dean gently, rolling Dean over onto his back again. He leans over Dean, kissing his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks. He can see Dean’s heart beating steadily in his chest. Dean’s eyes are closed tight, his hand curved around Cas’s arm.

“Shit,” he says, voice wrecked. “Cas, that was…fuck.”

Cas hums, considers Dean. He looks thoroughly fucked out, chest and stomach sticky with semen, hair pulled in all directions, neck dark with marks from Cas’s mouth. He looks utterly, devastatingly done.

He considers for a moment; he remembers his plan.

“I don’t think we’re finished yet, Dean,” he says, decisive.

Dean brings his hands up to cover his face. “Again?” he asks, his voice trembling.

“Can you try again?” Cas asks.

Dean breathes in, a deep, shuddering breath to the very bottom of his lungs. He lets it out in a rush.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

Can grins wickedly, climbing over Dean’s waist to settle between his thighs. He parts Dean’s knees with sure hands, pushing them up to his chest, exposing Dean to his gaze. Dean’s hole is puffy and red, a steady trickle of Cas’s come leaking out to run between his cheeks. Without hesitating, Cas leans down and licks it up, his tongue sliding over Dean’s hole in a broad, flat stripe. Dean shouts.

“Too much, too much!” he cries out, head lifting from the pillows.

Cas soothes him wish gentle strokes of his palms against the backs of Dean’s thighs.

“I know, beloved. I know. Just let me take care of you. Let me show you what you can do.”

He hears Dean groan and drop his head back to the pillow. Cas leans back in with his mouth, kissing the tender flesh of Dean’s hole, licking gently, then more with more surety as Dean sighs above him. He tastes his own spend, bitter and earthy on his tongue as he stiffens the muscle and pushes it in, just a little, into Dean’s rim. Dean’s moaning in earnest now, nonsense words and sounds slipping from his mouth as Cas seals his lips around Dean’s hole and _sucks_. He gropes around on the bed for the discarded lube bottle, never breaking the connection with his mouth, but attending to Dean with the wet slide of his tongue, over and over.

When we slides a slick finger in alongside his tongue, Dean keens, the sound of a man who is utterly ruined. He’s wild for it, hips twitching against Cas’s face as he takes it, takes another finger, and another, slipping in easily now that he’s so fucked out and loose. Cas spreads his fingers, licks between them, then trails his tongue up to lave over Dean’s balls.

“Are you close?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah, Cas, just…more, I need more, please, Cas…” Dean is babbling, but Cas is happy to oblige. He slides a fourth finger in, slowly slipping deeper to the knuckles, until the width of his hand is pressing against Dean’s rim. He’s fixated by the sight, his hand halfway inside Dean, the stretch of Dean around him, the heat of his skin.

“You could take it all, couldn’t you?” he murmurs, sliding his fingers out and then in again, slipping brutally over Dean’s prostate.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. “Anything, Cas, everything, I’ll take it, please, just touch me, _touch me_.”

Cas maintains the rhythm of his fingers, fucking Dean gently but firmly with his hand. He brings his other hand up to rub a knuckle over Dean’s perineum. Above him, Dean moans a continuous stream of sound, rising in pitch as he claws closer and closer to the edge. Cas has never seen Dean like this, so utterly lost to pleasure that it must border on pain. He keeps it up, keeps his hand moving slowly with a single-minded focus, pressing down on Dean’s prostate with every pass, bowing his head to suck Dean’s balls into his mouth one at a time.

“Fuck, Cas _fuck—”_ Dean shouts. “Gonna come, gonna come, gonna— _fuck!”_

It creeps up on him this time, ushered into existence with Cas’s gentle hands, and Dean’s whole body arches, his back bowing, his feet kicking into the mattress, his hands grasping at Cas’s shoulders, his back, gripping him and pulling him up and into a deep kiss. Dean sobs against his mouth, and Cas kisses him through it as Dean curls into himself, coming hard and dry, his orgasm pulsing through him like a sudden wave.

Cas runs a soothing hand down Dean’s chest until his muscles relax, and he drops back, pliant and loose-limbed onto the sheets. He reaches out for Cas, pulls him in close. Cas slings an arm over Dean’s waist, kisses the corner of his mouth and the corner of his eye.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, and Dean pats his arm in reply.

“You’re…hmmm,” Dean hums sleepily, drifting on the edge of consciousness. “Love you, Cas.”

“And I love you.” Cas runs a finger over Dean’s eyebrow, delicate and soft. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Dean asks sleepily.

“For giving this to me. For trusting me.”

Dean nods, slowly, dreamily. “Hold me?”

“Of course,” Cas says, wrapping Dean up in his arms, twining their ankles together. “How do you feel?”

“Fucking ‘mazing,” Dean mumbles. “Tired. But good. You’re so good.”

Cas kisses his cheek, his neck.

“You’re incredible, Dean,” he says.

“Shhh,” Dean hushes him. “Sleep, please.”

Cas ducks his head, grins into Dean’s shoulder.

“Of course. Let me just clean us up.” He starts to withdraw his limbs, meaning to roll out of bed in search of a hand towel, but Dean grips his wrist with a strong hand.

“Later,” he says, eyes closed, shuffling over onto his side and pulling Cas in tight behind him. “Tomorrow. Then, pancakes.”

Cas kisses Dean’s shoulder, wraps him tighter in his arms. Dean will probably wake up again soon, sticky and uncomfortable and feeling gross enough to prod Cas awake, demanding that he find them a towel, or just drag him into the shower.

But for now he runs his fingers along Dean’s upper arms, soothing and gentle, pressing his face into the nape of Dean’s neck and kissing the soft skin along his hairline.

“Okay,” he says. “Pancakes tomorrow. I’ll cook.”

Dean snorts, awake enough to recognise that sentiment for the nonsense it is.

“Not a chance,” he says before his jaw slips open in a bone-deep yawn.

Cas smiles into Dean’s skin. He’s so lucky, he knows, to have found this. That despite everything, he has this wonderful man in his arms. Dean deserves nothing but joy and happiness and pleasure and love. And that, Cas is certain, is something he intends to deliver—for the rest of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> OMG, I can't tell you how many times I had to minimise my Word doc when my husband kept wandering into the room as I wrote this. *shifty side eyes* 
> 
> I reblog Dean Winchester gifs on [Tumblr](https://woodenducks.tumblr.com/), if that floats your boat.


End file.
